Tainted Love
by Harold loves Maude
Summary: From the second I saw her, I knew we weren't mean to be.  Like two pieces of a different puzzle.  But, would that really stop me from crunching the the sides together, creating a picture you don't want to see?
1. Love or Infatuation

Author's Note: Hello, we just have some things to say before we start this off. This is our first story, so no hate! Well, flaming is welcome, but we'll just ignore it. This story might not make the most sense, and the grammar isn't perfect, but we tried. We really hope you enjoy it, and it's not too messed up.

Disclaimer: We do not own Degrassi, sadly. If we did, there would be plenty of Eclitz threesomes.

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~Prolouge~

"Clare, Clare, Clare …"

Sometimes I like to think about what would have happened if I had never 'loved' her. That I had never taken that job. That I had never laid eyes on her. That my fingers had never encased that book. That her fingers had never encased my heart.

She was supposed to change me. That's what I thought. I saw her beauty, as great as her innocence.

I expected her to save me. From myself. But my love for her…it was supposed to be my life preserver, my last chance. But instead, my love for her was just extra weight that dragged me down, a spiral unto myself.

But…would I change anything I had done? No.

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Tainted Love

She's sitting there again. Same seat. Same time. Same journal. Maybe she knows I'm watching her. Have been watching her for awhile. And she likes the pleasure of knowing that she tortures me.

With every crossing and uncrossing of the legs. With every bite of the lips. With every curl she pushes from her face with her left ring finger. Pure hearts wait.

I feel my lips curl dangerously. Not for long.

"Eli! Dude, tables need cleaning." someone says from behind me. I lift my gaze from the beautiful girl writing in her journal.

"Whatever, man." I say to the tall lanky blond man. I look back to the girl's table. Gone.

Damn Peter.

"Really, get cleaning. I didn't hire you to just stand there," he repeats, disappearing behind the counter.

"Okay, okay…" I begin wiping the tables, lingering by the one the girl was just sitting at. I breathe in deeply. I can just smell her floral perfume.

I finish cleaning the tables, and then take a seat off in the corner, watching the people filter in and out of the diner. My shift is well over, but I have no intentions to go home. No point to, really. My father, Bullfrog, is never home, probably off getting drunk somewhere, and my mother, CeCe, is always down in the basement, smoking joints all day. So I just spend most of my time here, watching people, especially that one girl…

I remember as a sophomore starting my job here.

When I saw her for the first time, her a freshmen. She had looked a lot different then. Her hair much longer, straighter, restrained in ponytail. Her large beautiful blue eyes hidden behind the glare of her glasses. Those curves flattened out due to that catholic school girl uniform worn everyday; even though Degrassi Community School didn't have uniforms (I had too many dreams that had to do with that uniform, though).

But now she had grown, and her presence was even more desirable. Her hair was cropped short into adorable cinnamon curls, and her crystal blue eyes were now glasses free. I assumed she got contacts, or surgery or something, but I didn't ask. I never said anything to her at all. Maybe it was because she was just sure pure, and I would taint her with a single greeting from my lips. The purity ring she wore on her finger, the crucifix necklace that rested on the alabaster skin of her chest, the bible she often clutched close to her after church on Sundays…

"Hey, time to lock up. Mind giving me a hand with some of these chairs?" Peter's voice breaks my thoughts, and I look around. The Dot is empty now, us two the only ones inside. Half of the chairs are now stacked on top of the tables, and Peter is working on the second half. He stares at me for a long while until I sigh and stand to help him finish with the chairs.

I step outside the Dot after locking up to feel the brisk Toronto air sting my skin. A vintage black hearse waits at the curb of the road, Morty.

I drive home listening to hardcore screamo music. After a 15 minute drive I pull into my driveway. The lawn is dead with broken beer bottles hiding in the grass.

When I walk up to the door I spot a small little mouse scurrying across the porch. It stops for a second looking up at me with innocent little eyes. And when I bend down to pick him up he happily complies, thinking I was as kind as CeCe and would spare a few bread crumbs or cheese for him. Sadly mistaken.

With just my index and middle finger I squeeze and squeeze his middle while he squirms and makes disgusting little squealing noises. I let out a chortle, when he goes limp in my hand. I toss him back on the ground and unlock the door with my key.

The first thing I smell when I step through the door is weed and Chinese takeout. I don't mind the scent, because it always smells like this, but I cough a little from the smoke fumes wafting up from the basement. My coughs and chokes are echoed by my mother's who is down there right now, probably smoking a joint…again.

I toss my keys onto the counter, which is already cluttered enough with empty beer and soda cans, magazines CeCe steals from the neighbor's porch, and old take out containers. I pick up one of the take out containers, to see if there's anything salvageable, but I come up empty. I throw it back down angrily, my stomach growling audibly. There's never anything to eat in this fucking place. I tread over the paper cartons, sweeping my arm along the counter as I did so, knocking everything to the floor.

"Elijah, is that you?" CeCe croaks from downstairs, but I ignore her, kicking several cans out of my way as I head toward my room.

While stomping up the stairs I ignore all the family photos that hang on the walls. I'm not interested in buying a one way ticket down memory lane.

As quickly as I opened my bedroom door, I slam it shut, giving myself enough time to get in.

The black walls of my room could be seen between the spaces of all the band posters I had put up. A torn black sheet had been thrown over the small window blocking the moonlight.

While walking to my bed I ignore the abundant clutter of old records, action figures popcorn tubs, and etc. I barely register how I avoid tripping on DVD cases or dirty black tees.

I dump a pile of books and other un-important items onto the floor and sit on the now opened space on my bed with a loud sigh. This would be my night, sitting here on my bed, doing nothing but staring at the wall across from me. I normally don't sleep; CeCe says its insomnia, but I still have my doubts on that one. It's not that I can't sleep, I just choose not to.

Thirty minutes pass and I stand up, my muscles are sore from being keyed up in the same sitting position the entire time. I move over to my window, peeling the sheet back to peer out. The neighbor's house is dangerously close to ours, so I can see right inside their windows. The room across from mine happened to be the bathroom, and when I had nothing else to do, I often watched the people inside. I never felt wrong doing so, despite peeping in people's bathrooms being frowned upon.

I notice the lights are on, but the curtains are closed. I mentally curse, only being able to see the dark figure inside. It's a woman, I can tell that for sure by the outline of her curves and long hair. But I'm not sure which woman it is. There are two that live there, the mother and her daughter. I don't know them, even though they are my neighbors. I only know that they enjoy taking showers at night, and often leave the curtains open, a plus for me.

The outline of the woman leans down slightly, towards where she is so close to the window she may be able to see me. The woman lifts open the window and I get a clear view of the woman, the mother. She turns around and pulls up her blouse leaving her in just a bra. She peels off the rest of her clothes and is finally standing nude looking examining herself in the mirror.

Mother turns the knob of the shower. Waiting for it to heat up. She puts her hand under the running shower and retracts it quickly, the water either too hot or cold. The now wet fingers rub over her left nipple, causing it too become erect. Cold water.

"Oh yeah." I groan. I grab a chair from the desk in the corner. Sitting down I unzip my now tight jeans.

The mother steps into the shower. She leans against the wall of the shower and spreads her legs, facing me. A perfect view.

This woman wasn't the most attractive. But not painful to look at either. Probably older then my mom. Maybe forty-five. But I get what I can get.

With her right index finger she plunges in.

"Oh!" She moans.

Tighter my boxers get. I slide those off, squeezing my dick.

Steam is lifting from the window, but it clears with another loud moan.

She had added two more fingers. When she thrusted back out her fingers glistened with a murky fluid. With her left hand she brushes her nub with the pad of her finger. "Ooh yes!"

When I stroked my dick with my hand, I closed my eyes, imagining this average looking woman becoming the innocent beauty that constantly plagued my thoughts.

The beautiful girl's short curly hair was matted down with the stream of hot water pounding down on her body. She is now rubbing at her nub furiously. "Eli! Eli! Eli! ELI!" I imagine her chanting over and over.

But my beautiful thoughts are broken when my bedroom door opens showing my mother, her blonde mullet messy and her eyes half-lidded and a distinguishing aroma that she seems to carry, standing in the doorway.

'"Eli? I was wondering if you-"

"CECE! Get the fuck out!" I snap at her.

"But-"

"GET!" I yell picking up a pillow on the ground and chucking it at her. She closes the door before it hits her.

I doubt she saw anything. Probably too stoned to notice.

I look up to the window. Her bouncy cinnamon curls now long, mousy and limp. Her stature no longer petite and curvy.

I groan, not out of pleasure but of annoyance. I pull up my boxers and move the black tattered sheet to cover the window.

When my head rests on the back board of my bed, I squeeze my eyes shut...and I wonder. I wonder what my mystery girl would think of what I do, what I am. I wonder if she would ever love me. And I wonder why I actually care.

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It didn't suck too much, did it?

Reviews? :)


	2. What's In a Name?

A/N Thank you to all the dears who reviewed and who have even read this story! We literally screamed when we read the reviews, and FOUR reviews? (If we don't update in a while, the neighbors have called the cops and we are now in prison. Bake us a cake with a file in it.) In only 12 hours? That is amayzing! You're all so lovely! We love you guys like Hitler loves Jews!...ha I keeding. BUT if you happen to be Gay Black and Jewish we have a position open for you as our "Sassy Gay Best Friend". Because, seriously, YOU guys are the best, never give up! Oh, and we're planning an LGBT parade in June, so if you read that anywhere in the news come down and join us! Well, enjoy!

Disclaimer: We do not own any of these characters, they belong to...the Canadians? Where they eat 'bacon', play hockey, get drunk off syrup and get chased by mounties!...isn't that what Canada is like? Ha, well they do not belong to us. If they did Eli wouldn't be wearing clothes half of the time, KC would wash his hair, Jenna's baby would be black, Wesley would get some real love and Chantay would graduate already...and did I mention the Eclitz threesomes?

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The girl is reading a book the next time I see her. It's my shift at the Dot, and she's propped in her same seat, at the same time, with a book clutched lightly in her dainty hand. She has a pen in the other, and every so often she flips a page and scribbles something between the margins of the book, her pink tongue poking out of the corner of my mouth.

I watch her as I work. I don't know what book she is reading, but that she seems to enjoy it, and continues taking notes alongside the text in the book. I casually walk past her table several times to try and catch at least the title, but I only get the author's name. Chuck Palahniuk or something like that. It sounds familiar, but I can't be sure.

On the third time I pass, she glances up, her cyan blue eyes locking with mine. My stomach lurches, and I am reminded of the previous night. The neighbor's mother in the shower, but my twisted imagination had created her. Thoughts of her in the shower rush through my head, her lips parted, the steam of the shower flattening her curly hair against her forehead…

I knock the thoughts away, bringing myself back to reality. The cinnamon haired girl at the table gives me a small smile before returning to her book, not looking at me again. I stand there for a while more, not sure if I actually want to speak to her for once, but Peter snaps at me to get back to work, and I resume cleaning empty tables.

It isn't long before she leaves and I shift over to wipe her table, even though she hadn't been eating or drinking anything; I just want a sniff of her luscious scent still wafting in the air.

The table isn't empty when I arrive, though. The book she was reading was lying on the table, the cover face up. I am now able to read what it says, Lullaby by Chuck Palahniuk. The title clicks in my brain. I remember hearing about this before. The protagonist in the story is a necrophiliac, or something of that sort. What would a girl like her be reading something like this?

I gently take the paperback book in my hands and flip it to the cover page. Up in the corner, in curly elegant writing it reads, 'property of Clare Edwards'.

After all of this time of watching this mystery girl, I now know her name. Clare Edwards.

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"Clare Edwards." I say out loud once more. I love her name.

It's been hours that I've been sitting on my bed clutching the book in my hands, running my fingers over the cover, tracing all the words on it, repeating her name over and over again, like chant.

I don't dare go beyond the first page where Clare Edwards wrote "Property of Clare Edwards", in fear that those words will disappear and this was just another one of my fantasies.

Hours more pass and I don't move, just my eyes scanning that same page. Finally, with shaking fingers, I turn the page, of course, I fail to do it with the same elegance and delicacy that she does, and I read.

I read and read and read. When I usually read I skip around looking for the part where the guns go off or where the protagonist kicks the bad guy's ass, but it seems everything in this book was that part. I've never read with such urgency. Sometimes I don't even read the book, just her annotations. Just from what she's written I can tell she's an intellectual.

When I'm finally finished I feel out of breath. The idea that, that unreachable mystery girl seemed so close. That I've gotten closer to the oasis. The mere thought that she had touched this same book that lay in my hands, gives me stomach clenches. For a second I think I'm hyperventilating.

The room starts to spin, and I clamp my eyes shut, lying back on my bed. I imagine Clare lounging somewhere in her own bed, the same very same book in her own hands. She would be wearing a skimpy purple nightgown made of lace that rides up her thighs whenever she shifts. My originally innocent thought soon transforms into another fantasy.

Clare seductively licks the pen in her hand, trailing her tongue along the sides. She moves to lie on her stomach, and the hem of her nightgown lifts up, showing her thin yellow panties. She sucks on the end of the pen, flipping a page in her Chuck Palahniuk book, murmuring my name under her breath. The pen moves further into her mouth, and she sucks teasingly on it, as if she knows I'm thinking about her. She mumbles my name again, and I feel my breathing hitch, just by this simple thought.

She's practically deep throating the pen now, and her nightgown rides up so high it shows her ass completely, though it is still covered by her sunshine yellow underwear. Clare lifts her hips up and moves her hand underneath, completely deep throating the pen now.

"Eli!" she screams, and my eyes snap open, the image fading. It turns out she hadn't been calling my name all along. CeCe stands over me, her face close to mine. "Eli?"

"CeCe! What the hell?" I shout, pushing her back. Something falls from my mouth as I do so, and I realize it was the pen I had imagined Clare deep throating. My gag reflex kicks in then, and I gag, almost throwing up on CeCe.

"Elijah? Are you alright?" she asks, leaping back and stumbling over a stack of graphic novels.

"Fuck!" bending over with my head swirling to try pick up the graphic novels.

"Oh, baby boy! Do you need help cleaning up your room?" CeCe asks looking over my shoulder into my room. "If you don't read these anymore we could throw some away."

I see her holding a graphic novel in her hand examining it with her eyes. The boiling I felt in me early seemed to spill over. My breathing became erratic while I stare her down. Something inside me snaps.

"Put. That. The. Fuck. Down." I tell her, venom dripping from my voice.

Fear is evident in her eyes as a glare at her with absolute malice. "I-I-I'm sorry baby bo-Eli." she stammers backing out of my room cautiously.

CeCe drops the comic and leaves the room quickly, staring back at me in confusion. I have lashed out at her before, but this time I was close to the reaction of a feral animal. I must have scared her shitless.

I snatch up the graphic novel from the floor, panting through my gritted teeth. The room continues to swirl, and it feels like I am being torn in two. I begin picking up the stack of comics CeCe had stumbled over, muttering phrases such as, "Yeah, there we go," and "So much better," until they were neat and orderly again.

I run my fingers through my hair with an exhausted sigh and slump backwards, looking about my room. It's a complete mess; mountains upon mountains of boxes, comic books, regular books, old school supplies, thousands of newspapers and magazines, rolled up posters, shoes, and the list could go on forever. It probably wasn't right to keep all of this in here, but something in the back of my mind, a tiny voice taunted me if I even thought about throwing any of it away. Someone's going to die, you're going to get hurt, it reminded me, and I would add another collection to my already overflowing room to shut it up.

Out of the corner of my eye I see a picture frame lying on my desk, next to a toy car and a broken alarm clock. The picture frame itself is a nice, sleek black with no scratches or evidence of age. In it was a picture of her. Julia.

She had a familiar annoyed scowl on her face. I can feel a sincere smile pulling at my lips. I had taken the picture of her the day her and I had found Morty at a junk yard. At first I was a little skeptical of driving a vintage hearse but the look on Julia's face gave me no choice.

"She was so stubborn..." I say to myself laughing lightly.

Her face was long and her skin was pasty. Julia wore her black hair to the middle of her back, where she was strangely ticklish. Her eyes where close set and so dark, so interesting. And her voice was so strong and determined, so different from the high-pitched, meek sounding voices you usually hear.

Julia's looks were average but her personality made up for that. No matter what she did, she did to the extreme. She was full out, never holding back. She brought so many emotions out of me. She made me think. Made me believe there was something more. Julia lived each day like her last. But one day, she had relied on her tomorrow to make something up. To make _us _up.

Julia had been hit by a car. We had gotten in a fight that night, a nasty one at that. She yelled at me, and in a rage I said some things I honestly didn't mean, and she stormed off into the night on her bicycle. Several hours later I received a call that she had died in the Intensive Care Unit, and right then, I couldn't have been more miserable in my life.

I've healed a little since then, confiding in the things in my room for comfort. Everything in here was like a little piece of her, and it all kept me from doing something stupid, like hanging myself in my closet, or blowing my head off with my dad's hand gun like Kurt Cobain or something. It would have been stupid, and selfish to kill myself anyway. I still had CeCe, who I know cared for me, even if she was high off her ass twenty hours of the day. And I had some friends…or perhaps one would be a more accurate number. But he was the best friend any fucked up, alone, slightly insane teenager could have.

I suddenly wonder if Clare would be willing to…befriend someone like me. Well, more specifically, me. 'If she ends up working in a psychiatric ward…' I think bitterly to myself, glaring at Clare's book on my black sheets. On my night stand I pick up my i-pod and find a song l like. I smile thinking about the quote Clare had under lined in 'Lullaby'.  
_ "You turn up your music to hide the noise. Other people turn up their music to hide yours. You turn up yours again. Everyone buys a bigger sound system. This is the arms race of sound. You don't win with a lot of treble. This isn't about quality, it's about volume. This isn't about music. This is about winning. You stomp the competition with the bass line. You rattle windows. You drop the melody line and shout the lyrics. You put in foul language and come down hard on each cussword. You dominate. This is really about power."_

I blast the music.

So Clare likes power, huh? If she wants someone to dominate, maybe she would befriend someone like me.

I finally sleep with that thought stuck in my mind. An unknown goal, a promise of sorts, to myself.

"Clare..." I mutter, my eyes fluttering shut and my world going dark. I really like her name.

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A/N Thank you for reading! Review, please!


	3. Numbers

**Greetings, readers! We do apologize for just randomly disappearing. There was some stuff going on, like writer's block, a few clan rallies to attend, and a mission from the government to investigate a recent disappearance in the Bermuda triangle. Just the norm. **

**Now, some of you may have noticed the original chapter three has been taken down. It was removed for obvious reasons, and we are truly sorry for disturbing any of you. But you were warned this story was going to be dark, and often unpleasant. There was another reason, being of course that a few of you said it didn't fit right with the plot. We read it over, and agreed, deciding to take it down and re-write it. **

**So, now I will shut my mouth and let you sit back with your popcorn (if you don't have any, seriously, get some) and read this much for subtle, lame excuse for a chapter. Enjoy. **

**Disclaimer: We do not own Degrassi. If we did, we'd be arrested for some of the events that would occur on the show. We don't need to get into that.**

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I have school the next morning. I don't particularly enjoy it, but I mean, if it gets me out of the house, and I get to see Clare, her curly haired figure sitting behind me in English every morning.

CeCe greets me when I enter the kitchen, and I ignore her, as always.

"Did you sleep well?" she asks, and I start towards the refrigerator.

"I guess," I mutter, wrenching the door open. The fridge is almost completely barren, just an expired carton of milk, butter, a container of bologna, and some apples inside. With a sigh I close it again. I'm not hungry anymore.

"Elijah, do you think you can go to the store after school today? I need you to get some groceries, I'll make a list," CeCe digs through her purse in search of a pen and some paper.

"We don't have any money," I point out, and I bite down on my tongue, forcing myself not to add, '_because you spend it all on drugs_,'.

"Well, um, you get good pay from your job, right? Maybe you could…" she looks at me hopefully.

"Yeah, sure. I'll just go spend _my _hard earned money on stuff for _you _because you can't afford to do it yourself," I snap.

"Eli —" she starts but I cut her off.

"Whatever. I'm going to school," I snatch my backpack off of the floor and sling it over my shoulder, heading towards the door.

"Have a good day!" she calls after me.

I roll my eyes.

When I arrive at Degrassi the place is already flooded with students. Great.

I weave my way through the crowded parking lot, attempting to avoid the many students that exited their cars or stood talking with friends.

Eventually I find a spot all the way in the back of the lot and park Morty, annoyed at how long that took. I should have just ran over that group of ninth graders awhile back, but apparently that illegal.

There's just enough time to stop by my locker when I finally reach the school building. I walk inside, ignoring the stares I get by doing so. I can hear what several people are whispering about as I pass. Things like, "Oh, that's the boy who drives the hearse," and "Is he wearing nail polish?"

There's a familiar face waiting by my locker when I arrive. My friend, my _only _friend, Adam is standing there, a grin on his face. "Hi Eli," he says.

"Hey Adam," I respond, glancing over at him as I dialled my locker combination.

I wasn't exactly sure how Adam and I had become friends. He was well…different. Different in the opposite sense that I was. Adam is an FTM, female to male transgender. Biologically a female, mentally a male. None of this mattered me though, of course. Adam was the best friend I'd ever had.

"Did you get that essay for Ms. Dawes done?" Adam asks.

"Huh?" I rifle through my messy locker, searching for my English book.

"That essay Ms. Dawes wanted. Did you write yours?" Adam repeats.

"Oh, that?" I retrieve the book, slamming my locker shut afterwards. "Um, I think so."

I begin to turn around, but something freezes me. I can smell perfume…that perfume I would know _anywhere_. I hear the footsteps next, they're dainty, almost like the steps of a ballerina.

The footsteps get louder, and the perfume gets stronger, and I still don't turn around. My heart races in my chest. Is Clare Edwards, the girl I know is walking, coming towards me?

There's a tap on my shoulder. She is.

I turn around, instantly staring into her sky blue eyes. "U-um, hi," she breaths nervously, glancing up at me. "Sorry to disturb you, but you work at The Dot, right?"

"Yeah," I confirm, staring at her. I notice her cheeks turning slightly pink, and she averts my gaze, looking back down at her shoes.

"Oh, well, I go there a lot, and I think I misplaced my book. Have you happened to see it?"

The image of the very book she was speaking about, which was now lying on my bed, invaded my mind. For a moment I think about telling her I have it, but that would mean I would have to give it back. I don't want to. "No, sorry. I haven't seen it,"

"Oh," she sighs. "Well thanks anyway. I'm Clare, by the way," she extends her hand toward me, and very hesitantly I take it, unsure if this is just an illusion or not. Any minute I would wake up now…

But her warm hand felt completely solid in mine, and I decided for now that this was real.

"I know," I say, and her eyebrows furrow in confusion. Of course, we haven't physically met before, I shouldn't know her name. "Uh, I mean…you're in my English class. And I'm Eli,"

"Oh, that's right," her hand slides from mine, and I fight the urge to reach forward and hold it again. Her hands were so soft. "I should probably get going. It was nice meeting you, though. And if you happen to see my book, will you tell me?"

"Sure thing," I say, and she smiles before turning away in the direction of Ms. Dawes's room.

After she is gone, I acknowledge that Adam is still there, standing right beside me. I glance over at him, and he stares back.

"You have her book," he states.

I roll my eyes. "What makes you say that?"

"I don't know. I can just tell you have it,"

"No, I do not," I'm getting defensive now. "Now shut up and let's get to class,"

"Whatever you say…" Adam murmurs.

As we trek to class, I imagine Clare's hand in mine the whole way there.

A blatant noise makes it's ways through the halls of Degrassi, the same time I manage to slide into my seat. I try to ignore Clare sitting behind me.

Following the bell, a tall, wispy woman with a brown wool shawl splayed over her shoulders walks in, placing some type of latte on her mahogany desk, in the front of the room.

"Salutations, students! In many of you I see futures scientists, future doctors, some future criminals," everyone laughs, from behind me I hear a light, airy bell-like giggle. "and future authors."

"For the next two weeks, I will assign you a writing partner. This partner, you may dislike, you may like,"

I feel Clare's gaze, I try to push away the fact that she's staring not at me, but through me. "but together, you will decide on a writer, and a book, you both like. You will write a sequel to this book, a continuation."

"You have to write in this person's style, the special quirks that are special in everyone's writing." Quirks, like the way Clare would crinkle her nose, or bite her lip, or tug on her curls. "I will call out names, and the name that follows yours is the partner you will be working with."

"Alex, Tomonaga. Bhandari, Torres. Edwards, Goldsworthy…" I zone out after that. I will be working on a project. For two weeks. With Clare.

"Okay! Get to work!" Ms. Dawes calls, clapping her hands together.

I feel a small, dainty finger tap my shoulder. I turn around in my seat, my eyes lock with eager blue orbs.

"Hi Eli! What's your favourite book?"

Almost instantly, I reply, "Lullaby, by Chuck Palahniuk."

Clare gives me a strange look, before her face blends into understanding, then into suspicion. "Ha, weird, that's the book I had lost…"

"Oh, really?" I feign innocence.

"Yeah!" she replies, nodding vigorously, her curls bouncing. I guess I'm a better actor than I thought…or she's tragically naïve.

"Yeah…" I reply lamely.

"Definitely! It's also one of my favourites!"

"Cool…so, how should we start?"

"However you want, Eli. You probably know more about the book than I do," she smiles at me, twirling a mechanical pencil in her fingers.

I roll my eyes. We were never going to get anywhere with this project if we couldn't even decide where to start. "Fine," I say with a sigh, trying to avoid her eyes. Those azure blue orbs were too taunting.

"Well…I think we should discuss it first," I begin, glancing around the room. I see Adam sitting with Alli, who was busy examining her nails. He looks at me helplessly and gulped when she asks his opinion on whether she should paint them amethyst or bubble gum pink.

"Okay!" Clare agrees, and I turn my attention back to her. "What was your favourite part?"

"Um…" I try to think for a moment. I hadn't read the book in so long, other than that one night when I discovered her copy, and spent half of the night reading it. "Well I liked the whole thing?"

Clare giggles and my heart races in my chest. Why must she do this to me? "You're funny Eli. I liked the whole thing too, but my favourite part was probably —"

I couldn't pay attention anymore after that. Her mouth was still moving, but I heard nothing but the blood rushing in my ears, smelt nothing but her intoxicating floral perfume, and saw nothing but her set of blue eyes, staring back at me curiously.

"Eli, are you okay?" she waves her hand in front of my face and I blink several times. Had I zoned out or what? Damn, Clare.

"What? Oh, yeah I'm just fine," I grunt, averting her gaze again.

"Okay," she says quietly, looking down at her desk like I had hurt her feelings or something.

I sigh, running my fingers through my hair and just try to get out of this class alive.

And fifty minutes later, when I was just about to stab myself in the neck with a pencil, or leap over Clare's desk to fulfill my uncontrollable urge to kiss her, the bell rang. The class cheers and Ms. Dawes just titters, her hands on her hips.

"Now, now, class, just stay right there. I still have one more thing to say,"

She goes on about something to do with working on the project after school as much as possible, and to be able to get in contact with our partners, but I don't pay attention to the details.

"Alright! Get lost!" Ms. Dawes concludes with a smile, and I stand up to leave, only to be interrupted by Clare's hand on my shoulder. I shudder at her touch.

"Um, Eli?" I turn on my heels to face her, and she looks up at me. "S-since we're working on this together…do you want my number? So you can like call me?"

My blood stopped pumping through my veins. The gears in my brain stopped whirling. Hell froze over.

In all my years watching Clare, not _once _had I spoken to her until now, and today she is giving me her number? Never in a million years would I believe this.

"Yes!" I exclaim a little too eagerly and Clare giggles again. "I mean uh, sure, yeah, I'll need your number," I try not to bite my tongue as I tumble over my words.

"Well then…" she reaches inside her bag and tears off a piece of paper to write on. She hunches over the table, speedily scribbling her phone number on the paper in lime green pen ink before handing it to make. "Here you go. Remember to call,"

"I will most definitely call," I tuck the slip of paper in between my fingers and Clare grins at me, her cheeks slightly pink. She probably thinks I'm a creep now. Not that I am or anything…

"I'll be waiting," she winks and for a moment I forget to breathe. How could a girl like her do something like this to a guy like me?

I continue to stand there, even after she's gone, the paper she had just written on burning in my clutched hand. Other than the time I had called the child abuse hotline five years ago, I had never been this eager to call a simple number. And I was going to call it. Tonight.

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**Did it suck? Yes, it did? We know. **

**We'll try harder on the next chapters, we promise. **

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	4. Phone Calls

**Oh, oh guess what? What is this? A new chapter possibly?  
****If you guessed correctly, stick around and read it! But if you didn't...well read it anyway. **

**Sorry if this is a little short...and a little late. This is sort of a filler chapter, nothing too important, so I hope it's okay. We'll work on making the chapters longer.  
**

**Disclaimer: We do not own Degrassi, sadly. If we did, Morty would stay on the show as a cast member, because he's just too badass not to be. **

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I pace around in the limited space in my room, my cell phone clutched firmly in my hand. I was going to call Clare, I was going to do it. But every time I brought my phone to my ear, I would chicken out, dropping it back down. Why couldn't I do this?

"Just do it already, dammit!" I tell myself, my hand jerking upwards.

But instead of dialling Clare's number, I chuck the phone across the room in frustration with myself. It lands in a box of picture frames, probably broken.

"Elijah, what was that?" CeCe calls from behind the door. "I heard something fall," well, the noise must have been louder than I though, or she had been standing outside my door the entire time.

"It was nothing! Go away!"

But of course instead of obeying my command the door creaks open and CeCe sticks her head in. "Is something the matter? You aren't having problems again, are you? I can get you some more medication if you'd like, or —"

"No! I don't need anymore damn medicine! Just leave me the fuck alone," I scowl at her, flopping onto my bed.

CeCe gasps at my harsh words and takes a step back. "Fine, Elijah," she leaves the room, and once the door is closed again, I bolt up in search of my deserted phone.

I find it twenty minutes later in the box of picture frames, completely intact with only a few dents and scratches. Surprisingly, especially due to how far I had thrown it.

"Okay, I'm going to do this," I breathe, beginning to pace again. Why am I so nervous, why can't I just do this? I can call Adam without a problem.

"That's because Adam is your friend," I tell myself, not caring how damn crazy I sound blurting everything out to no one in specific. "Clare…isn't."

"Yeah, but she's my English partner. I have to call her," I ramble on, my phone rolling relentlessly in my sweaty palm. "Or, maybe she'll just call me…"

I glance at one of my many alarm clocks. It's nearly eight o'clock P.M. If Clare was going to call me herself, she would have done it already. Just like I should have…

"I just can't do it!" I growl to myself, sighing angrily in frustration.

"Eli, who are you talking to?"

Back at the door again, are we? CeCe pried the door open and looked inside.

"No one," I reply, and open my mouth to continue but she cuts me off.

"Then why did I —" she exhales and shakes her head. "Nevermind. Eli, I just wanted to let you know that your father brought home dinner. It's on the counter if you're hungry," she left almost as swiftly as she came, obviously not feeling welcome in my room anymore. Not that she ever was welcome.

My stomach rumbles at the thought of food, and I remember I hadn't eaten since lunch, but I ignore it and sit down heavily on my bed. I stare at my phone, expecting it to do something, or ring, but it remains silent.

That doesn't stop me from watching, however.

An hour passes and my eyes are still locked on the phone. It hasn't rung, I haven't called.

Another hour goes by. It still hasn't rung, I still haven't called. I begin to wonder if Clare would even answer, if she was even awake. But I guess I would have to find out…

At ten o'clock, I finally pluck up enough courage to call her. My aching, shaky fingers punch in her memorized number, and I hold my phone to my ear. I hear it ringing, and my leg trembles. What am I going to say? What if she —

"Hello?" on the fourth ring Clare picks up, and my mouth goes completely dry.

I remain silent, and I hear her breathing on the other line, waiting for someone to respond. "Uh, hello? Is anyone there?"

"C-Clare, hi," I croak, and mentally slap myself for stuttering. Smooth.

"Oh! Is this Eli?" her voice lights up, and she sounds almost…relieved?

"Yeah, it is," I say, my heart pounding unbelievably hard in my chest.

"I'm glad you finally called! I was starting to think you weren't going to…"

"Um, sorry about that. I-I wanted to…but I didn't really know what to say, and then it was getting kind of late and I figured you were asleep so I —" I was extremely grateful when she cut me off with a shrill giggle, because honestly, I could have rambled on forever.

"Eli, it's totally fine. I was actually just reading the book we were doing for English,"

"I thought you lost that," I say, my gaze shifting over to Clare's copy of Lullaby lying beside me on the bed. I felt guilty for taking it…but also had no intentions on giving it back.

"I did, but I got a copy from the library until my other one turns up," Clare explains and I nod, slowly crawling backwards on my bed until I reached the headboard.

"Oh," I reply, unsure of what else to say. "Well…" I clear my throat. "we should probably get started on that thing for Dawes,"

"Right, hang on, I'll just get my book. I like scanning over books when I discuss them. Helps me think, you know?"

Shuffling and silence comes from the opposite line, and I take that as an opportunity to retrieve my, well _Clare's_, book, and quench my incredibly dry throat. But as nervous as I was, I was glad I had forced myself to call her. I didn't know if we would ever associate with each other again after this assignment, so I was going to grab up every chance I could get.

"Okay, I'm back," I was so caught up in my thoughts, I hadn't even realized Clare had returned. "Eli, are you there?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry," I mumble. "I just uh…spaced."

"It's alright, Eli. I do that all the time," she exhales loudly. "We should probably get started on this. I don't know how long I can stay on the phone,"

"Right, okay."

We end up speaking for hours, one, possibly two. We talk until my throat is sore, and my lungs ache from laughing. Clare is purely entertaining, and she definitely made me blush more then once.

And in those two hours I talked with Clare, I learned things about her I never would have guessed. Like she has an older sister named Darcy, who has been volunteering in Kenya for two years, and how Clare's secretly in love with the band Flyleaf.

Talking to Clare was just about the greatest feeling ever. My chest loosened and I became less anxious. I was able to open up to her a little more, and she laughed at just about everything I said, making my heart soar and my face flush bright red. Why had I never talked to Clare before?

"Eli, you are so funny!" Clare gasped, choking on a laugh from the opposite line. She was still cracking up from the pathetic joke I had just told her, and I grinned.

"Not really…" I say, a blush crawling up my neck for about the twentieth time tonight. This girl was really getting to me.

"Yes, you are!" she exclaims. "Hasn't anyone ever told you that?"

No, no one has, actually. Not once in my life has anyone told me I was funny, except Julia of course…

"No, no one has ever told me that before," I repeat, only this time out loud. "Except for…um, nevermind,"

"Who?" she asks persistently.

'_None of your business_', I want to say, since I hadn't yet mentioned Julia to her, but worried I would offend her, I didn't. "Just um, you know…my mom,"

"Aw, well that's —" Clare stops suddenly and for a moment I think she's hung up.

"Clare, are you there?"

There's yelling in the background. And then the slamming of a door, and some shuffling. "Clare?"

"Eli sorry, but I have to go now. I had a blast talking with you, though!"

My heart sinks. I wanted to talk with her more, but of course she had to leave eventually…

"Oh okay. It was nice talking to you too," It was, really.

"Well, bye! See you in English!"

"Bye, Clare," I say, but she's already gone. I sigh, snapping my phone closed and tossing it to the side of my bed. It lands on Clare's book, which I had abandoned around halfway through our conversation.

I sit up and my stomach growls obnoxiously loud. Frowning, I glance down, realizing I haven't eaten since lunch. Or was it yesterday? I just haven't eaten in awhile.

I get to my feet and head to the kitchen, remembering CeCe saying something about dinner on the counter.

I find a few containers of Chinese takeout on the counter, some half consumed, others unopened. I grab a white paper carton of noodles, along with a fork from the table and head back to my room. Only…a strange noise from my parent's room stops me.

I pause, listening intently, and it doesn't take me long to figure out what the noise is. Someone is moaning and the headboard is thumping against the wall; they're having sex.

I set my food and silverware down on a nearby end table, and creep closer to the semi-open door, knowing what I'm about to do is horribly wrong. But it's not like they're going to notice, and the door _is _open.

I stand in the doorway, watching the movements of the blankets, and letting the sounds of my mother's moans, as sick as it is, fill my ears. My pants grow tight and I close my eyes, trying to imagine it as someone else other then my parents, fucking in the room before me.

And of course it has to be Clare.

My mother's blond mullet transforms into short auburn curls, and her rail thin body becomes round and curvy, smelling of strawberries and butterscotch, rather then weed and alcohol. And there's no surprise when my filthy mind places me on top of her, intently watching her beautiful face change as I fuck her hard —

"Eli! Is that you?" my eyes snap open to see that my parents ministrations had stopped, and they were both watching me. "Get out of here, you fucking creep!"

I don't stick around to see what my father will do, and sprint back to my room, completely abandoning my dinner in my haste to get away. I slam and lock my bedroom door, leaning heavily against it with a sigh.

My arousal is still painfully hard between my legs, but I choose to ignore it and sleep it off, along with my gnawing hunger pains. I change into some sweatpants from the floor, making things "below" a little more comfortable, and I curl up in the foetal position on my bed, clutching Clare's book tightly to my chest. It had become an item of comfort to me. Almost as if I was holding Clare herself.

Before I drift off to sleep I flip through several of the pages, admiring her curly, neat, handwriting and wondering, what would she say if I told her I watched my parents having sex…and imagined it was us?

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	5. Trace the Lines on Your Paisley Jacket

**A/N: Hello, readers! We've got a new chapter for you, and we think you'll enjoy this one! Who doesn't love a little Eclare fluffy-ness, and tampon-sniffing Eli creepiness? Because, we sure know we do! Oh, and special thanks to the reviewer who motivated us to write this whole chapter in one day. You know who you are...wow that sounds like the really cheezy beginning of an 80's soft rock song...Enjoy!**

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Weeks have passed and Clare and I have been hanging out more and more. Our project was the last thing on my mind when I was with her. When I'm with her, I struggle to control myself, but once I get past the lust that overwhelms me, I find something that sincerely frightens me…her.

Clare Edwards scares me more then heights, more then spiders, more then the monsters under my bed and in my closet combined. She was effortlessly brilliant, and so effortlessly beautiful. She was simple perfection in my eyes.  


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I'm walking down the halls of Degrassi with a bounce in my step, and a goofy smile playing on my lips, thinking about working on our project, at The Dot, with Clare.

I weave through the sea of students, and when I can just see my locker, someone blocks my way. "Look who we have here, Emo Boy looks excited. Got a date with your boyfriend?"

I look up to see Fitz glaring down at me, while his chimps laugh at his 'joke'. "Oh, I didn't know your mom was off today."

Fitz' eyes narrow at me, "You'll pay for that, Pretty Boy." Fitz's fist comes in contact with my jaw, the impact of the punch pushes me off my feet. He's towering over me, and when I feel a trickle of blood, I snap. I get back up and shove my fist straight in his abdomen. He spit's a bit on my face, and clutches his stomach, in pain.

While he's doubled over, I punch him in the face, on his cheekbone. My left hand knuckles are throbbing and it looks like I've got a cut.

Fitz's goons finally come into action, and restrain both of my arms from causing further damage. Fitz is back up and he's looking at me with this murderous glint in his eyes, but before he can do anything a musical, feminine voice rings out for him to stop.

Clare is standing behind him, and the raised fist Fitz was holding up, drops and he spins around to look down at her. His face instantly melts, at Clare's large blue eyes, "Please, stop. Stop fighting."  
Fitz is frozen for a moment before he silently nods, and makes some sort of hand gesture and his buddies release me. They all walk off, but I catch the glare Fitz sends my way.

"Are you okay?" Clare inquires.

My eyes drop down to Clare's, so full of concern. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Her dainty hand rises to my jaw line. It rests there for a second, until she wipes the blood that dripped down my chin.

I'm disappointed when she moves her hand away, and glances at my left fist. She reaches into her school bag, and pulls out something that looks like a rectangle piece of smooth paper.

Clare slips my hand into hers, the one with the cut. Her brow is furrowed, scrutinizing the cut. I fail at holding down my blush that is forming across my face. Clare places the pieces of paper in her mouth, and with her left hand fingers, pulls the paper apart to reveal a band-aid. A pink band-aid, with flowers and a white cartoon cat on it.

She pulls the pulls the tiny papers from the band-aid, causing it to become sticky, and places it on my cut. Clare examines her ministrations, rocking my hand, that looks so large and manly, in her tiny, feminine hand. A smile plays on Clare's lips."Hello Kitty." she giggles, dropping my hand. I frown at the warmth that vanishes.

"Er…Excuse me?" I ask, confusion lacing my words.

"The band-aid, it has Hello Kitty on it…pink looks lovely on you." the cinnamon haired beauty chuckles, her fingers on her full pink lips.

"Why thank you…anything looks lovely on you." I add the last part quietly.

"Oh, wow. Thank you, Eli." Clare looks up at me, grinning a brilliant grin. "So, project, the Dot?"

"Uh, yeah, I've got a car…I could drive us?"

"Definitely!" Clare replies, linking her arm into mine. As we walk I hear whispers about us, as we pass. We stroll down the halls, and I fail miserably at not acting totally awkward, trying to push open the door with her arm in mine. But, Clare just giggles.

We're walking down the steps, and Adam is sitting next to Alli talking. He looks my way, and gives me a thumbs up. I smirk his way, holding down my excitement.

Clare and I are in the parking lot, and she's humming a splendid tune with her beautiful voice. My face, neck and the tips of my ears, are now beet red, "Are you hot, Eli?"

"No…" I mumble as a pathetic reply. I stop walking and stand in front of Morty.

Clare unlinks our arms, and her jaw is dropped, as she looks at Morty. "This is your car?"

I'm fearful that she'll think Morty is creepy…that she'll think I'm creepy. "Yeah…" I mumble.

"This is so cool! I get to sit in the front, right?" I nod.

"I never get to sit in the front, especially not in a vintage hearse!" Clare bounces away, her short curls bouncing with her. She's excitedly at the passenger side of Morty, drumming her multi-coloured nails against the tinted window.

I hesitantly walk in front of her, and unlock it, opening the door for her, "Eli Goldsworthy, such the gentlemen, thank you." she teases sliding in.

The familiar blush is back on my face, as I make my way to the driver's seat, and sliding in with her. Clare's already wearing her seat-belt and I feel obligated to do the same. Sticking in the key into the ignition, I back out of the Degrassi Community School parking lot and drive to the Dot.

Clare is playing with the radio I had installed, and is humming even louder. She suddenly stops when it goes to a classical music station.

I try my best at keeping my eyes on the road, but I couldn't help sneaking peeks at Clare, from the corner of my eye. My hands are firmly on the steering wheel, and I eye the "Hello Kitty" band-aid on my knuckle. I glance over quickly at Clare, and can't help but smile a little.

She's making her fingers dance across the window, looking out the window with such interest, and child-like curiosity. "Hey, Eli…have you ever wished you could fly?" Clare asks me all of the sudden, still looking out the window.

A long pause, "Yeah…"

"Why?"

Hasn't everyone wished they could fly? I mean, it's human nature to want things that you cant have or do things that are impossible to do.

"It's…a way of conquering the world around you… Being able to fly would mean being able to escape." I mumble.

Clare's quiet for a moment, and I think I've said something wrong. She looks up at me, with her huge bright blue eyes, "Me too."

I keep driving until we are finally at the Dot, parking. I jog the other side, where Clare is, and open the door for her. Clare smiles up at me, and she slides her legs out, clad in the black tights she wore with her school uniform, she steps out. I slam the door shut, and lock it.

The air is a bit chilly and stings at our skin a bit. I'm perfectly fine, for, I'm always cold, im used to it, even in my black blazer. But, when I look at Clare in her light green paisley jacket and she tightens her blue scarf that matches her eyes, perfectly, around her neck. I rap my arm around her waist, awkwardly.

Clare looks up at me and smiles. We're inside the Dot, and it's a lot warmer, so we peel off our layers and sit at a bistro table near the window. We drop our bags, so they lean against the legs of the chairs, and pull out our binders, and she pulls out her copy of Lullaby.

Clare and I discuss the project, and I realize how much I enjoy talking to her. She made me feel so important, like, my ideas mattered. That I mattered. Clare was extremely intelligent as well, with sensible ideals, and well thought of answers. Peter comes by, a note pad in his hand and a pencil tucked behind his ear, "Hey Eli and…Clare?"

"Hey Peter!" Clare replies waving happily at Peter.

"Are you two dating? Cause, Eli, dude. You better take care of Clare here." Peter says, his blond eyebrow raised, suggestively.

"Oh, no." Clare answers, and I ignore the disappointment that is pooling at the bottom of my stomach.

"Well…have you heard from Darcy?" Darcy…Clare's sister in Africa?

"Yeah! She says she's really learning a lot. I think she's making a real difference." Clare replies giving him a far away smile.

"Oh…that's great. She doesn't reply to my letters, so…uhm, did you two want to order?"

Clare looks at me, and I shrug. "Sure, could I have some Darjeeling tea?"

Peter scribbles away on his notepad, "And you?"

"Uhm…a coffee."

"Any sugar, cream?"

"No thank you." it was weird ordering, when you were usually the server I notice. Peter nods, and disappears into the backroom.

"Eli, I'm going to use the washroom, kay?" Clare tells me. I nod and smile. Clare gets up and walks to the washroom, with the grace of a dancer.

I hear the door slam, and see it close. I finger the band-aid Clare's delicate fingers had laid on my knuckle, and smile.

Her bag is on the ground, I can almost see inside it, it's a tote bag with butterflies on it. I look around, and no one pays attention to me. Lifting the bag so it's laid on my lap, I peek inside. She has a binder…a few composition books. I stick my hand inside, and wrap my fingers around a small, cylinder object. I pull it out…it's a…tampon.

I twirl the tampon around in my fingers. I imagine where it's going to go, and I blush. I let the tip of it brush my nose, and I shudder. Oh Clare…

Tampons were for…women's menstruation cycle, right? Is Clare old enough to get that? They…bleed, yeah? Those are probably what the band-aids are for, too!

The washroom door opens and slams and I throw the tampon in Clare's bag and place it back on the ground. I look up and it's not Clare. Just a girl with ginger hair, and preppy clothes. She sits at the counter next to a tall Indian boy, who I recognize as Sav. We had gone to a concert together, and gotten pulled over by the cops.

I look away, and stare at Clare's seat. She has her paisley jacket on the shoulders of her chair, neatly and the scarf that matched her eyes perfectly next to it. My hands working on their own account, and snatch the scarf that matched Clare's beautiful bright eyes PERFECTLY! I lift it to my face and take a long, slow inhale. It felt so soft against my face. It also smelt of strawberries and flowers…it smelt like Clare.

The washroom door opens again, and without thinking, shove the scarf that matched Clare's eyes brilliantly into my black, beat up back pack. I see Clare appear, skipping back to our table and plopping herself onto her chair, not noticing a thing.

Just then, Peter swoops in and gives us our order, and we both thank him as he retreats to another table. Clare is adding milk to her tea, and a lot of sugar, she looks up at me, noticing my stare, "I really like sugar." she laughs.

I chuckle, and sip my plain black coffee. It was strong and bitter on my tongue. Clare and I continue to work on our project until the sky outside is dark with no sun, and Clare looks at her watch strapped to her wrist, "Oh, Eli, look at the time! I need to get home at seven, I gotta dash!"

"Oh…" I try to hide the obvious disappointment in my voice, "Can I drive you home?" I ask, hopefully.

"Of course!" Clare giggles, her sweet chime-like giggle. She slides her paisley jacket over her shoulders, and we head out, to Morty.

Clare gives me the directions to her house, which was quite funny. Despite her intelligence she was quite terrible at giving directions, "Uhm, by the thing…with the pretty flowers!"

"Err, I thought that was on the other street?"

"No, that was the one with the tree shaped like a piece of broccoli…I don't like that street."

We finally find her home, and I park in front of her house. It was a two story house, with pots of flowers out front, a nice porch, "Thank you, Eli, so much for driving me home!" Clare tells me.

"Oh…your welcome, Clare." I reply, embarrassed. "I'll walk you to your porch?" I ask, like I had seen in a movie.

"Definitely!" Clare nods, her curls bouncing back and fourth. For the fourth time that night, I jog to the passenger's seat, and open the door for her. When she gets out I notice that she shivers, "Oh, Eli!

I think I had forgotten my scarf at the Dot! I'm so forgetful!" Clare tut-tuts to herself, slapping her forehead.

I feel bad, that I had taken it and was so close to giving it back to her, but then she'll realize I had taken it, and hate me.. Another thing I had seen in a movie hits me, I slip off my black blazer and hang it over her tiny shoulders. Clare looks up at me, and smiles.

I walk Clare to her front door, and when we're there, I'm sad to know that our day will end. "I had a lot of fun, Eli!" Clare says, causing me to smile, "We're going to get a great grade on this project!" my smile vanishes form my face, and a frown takes it's place.

I think Clare notices this, and on her tippy tip toes…presses her lips to my cheek. "Goodnight, Eli. See ya' tomorrow!" and without another word, opens up her front door, and leaves.

I'm frozen in my place. Clare Edwards, all things good in the world…had kissed me, Elijah Goldsworthy, all things…not good.

After several minutes I can detach my feet from the ground and get into Morty. With my arms laid on the steering wheel, I hold my fingers, the fingers that had the Hello-Kitty band-aid on it, to my cheek, where Clare had kissed.

I reach over and grab the scarf from my back pack. I inhale Clare's sweet scent, from the scarf that matched her eyes perfectly.  


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	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: We are back in business, even better, nastier, and fucked up than before.**

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To no surprise, my father is already on my case the second I step through the door after my trip to the Dot with Clare.

"Where have you been?" he snorts from the couch, a half empty bottle of beer held loosely in his meaty hand.

"Out." I respond, throwing my set of keys to the house carelessly onto the counter, and kicking my shoes off. They land somewhere else in the room.

"Out where?" he presses, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

With a low sigh, I turn to face him. "I was out with my English partner. And you care because?"

"You were supposed to be home an hour ago."

"Says who? No one here gives a shit where I go." I say, my backpack still slung over my shoulder. The blue fabric of Clare's scarf hanging out of one of the unzipped pockets brushes against my bare arm, and I realise she still has my blazer. I'd have to get that back later.

"Your mother wanted you to go grocery shopping or something," he takes a sip of his beer. "Did you?"

"Yes dad, I went grocery shopping. That is why there are no bags in my fucking hands." I raise my empty hands as proof. My father sometimes…

"Don't be smart with me," Bullfrog says, and then tilts his head backwards as he bellows, "CeCe! The little bastard is giving me sass!"

There's no response from my mother from anywhere in the house, so Bullfrog calls her name again. "CeCe!"

Still no response.

"CeCe! Where the fuck are you!" Bullfrog tosses the beer to the side, and it rolls across the carpet, spilling its contents onto the already badly stained rug. He eases himself out of his sunken section of the couch and stomps out of the room in search of his wife.

After he is out of sight and earshot, I slip into the kitchen to sneak a beer out for myself. The fridge is full of beer, and only beer, so Bullfrog won't notice if a few Molson's go missing.

I slip back out just as easily, and as I pass the basement door on the way to my room, I could hear my father yelling downstairs.

"Well I'm hungry!"

A muffled reply from my mother.

"Just go to the store and get something for dinner!"

Another inaudible response.

"I don't care if you're in the middle of Desperate Housewives!"

Sick and un-entertained by the bickering, I continue up to my bedroom, closing the door with a simple slam behind me.

When I wake up the next morning, my entire bedroom is tinted a strange blue colour. Frightened, I frantically sit up, nearly falling of the bed, and something slides down my face. I glance down to see Clare's silky scarf laying across my lap.

So that's what made the room look blue. I must have fallen asleep with it over my face last night, which would probably explain the dream I had about chasing Clare and the Cottonelle puppy through a field of strawberries last night.

Taking Clare's scarf in my hands, I run the fabric through my fingers, a small grin growing on my face. It was so soft, like her skin. Not as warm, but it smelt just as nice.

The longer I hold the scarf, the more I long for Clare. To hear her soft, airy laugh, to feel her hand accidentally brush against mine, to watch her eyes light up when I say something that catches her interest. It feels like I haven't seen her in years, when in reality it was just yesterday.

Wow, was I that obsessed already?

_No,_ I remind myself. _Not obsessed. Not at all. I just like her. She__'__s a friend. _

Yes, a friend, just like Adam. That is all.

Suddenly, my alarm goes off, beeping shrilly, and I jump in fright. My heart is racing in my chest for the second time this morning. I was going to go into cardiac arrest before I even brush my teeth.

I slam my hand over the shrieking little machine, glancing at the time as I did so. It's a little after six, around the time I usually get up for school. With a sigh, I roll out of bed, discarding Clare's scarf into the sheets. I would much rather spend the day in bed with the item of clothing the entire day, but if I went to school, I could see the real thing.

After tugging on some clothes I find on the floor, I navigate my way through the mountains of garbage in my room to the door, snagging up my backpack along the way. Throwing my door open and stepping out of the room, I find the house completely silent, as it usually is in the mornings. Dad, passed out drunk in the bathtub, or in a hallway somewhere, and mom ripping from a bong as she watches reality show re-runs on her miniature television in the basement.

My stomach rumbles audibly as I walk down the hallway, and I place my hand over it, as if to silence it. I haven't eaten in awhile, and I highly doubted I would anytime soon. There was absolutely no food in this house other than some stone age containers of takeout, and I wasn't really in the mood to get a case of life threatening food poisoning. I had no money either, so buying anything was completely out of the question.

I'd survive though. I survived through the times when my father cracked a beer bottle over my head as a "joke", and the time I tripped over my aunt's cat and fell down two flights of stairs. I'd survive now.

When I enter the living room to find my shoes, I discover my mother passed out on the couch, a cigarette hanging limply in between her fingers. The small puffs of smoke rising from the end tell me it's lit.

Carefully, I reach down and grab it from her fingers to prevent it from falling and burning the house down while I'm gone. What a tragedy that would be.

I examine the cigarette for a few moments before raising it to my lips to take a drag. The smoke invades my lungs and I pull it away, coughing violently into my fist. I never really liked cigarettes anyway.

Completely finished with it and wanting it out of my hands, I glance around for somewhere the put the cigarette out. The usual ashtray that sits on the coffee table is missing, and me being too lazy to search for it, cross out that option. I could rub it out on the carpet, but that might cause a spark…

My mother's bare forearm catches my attention for some reason, but I shake my head, protesting the idea. I didn't want her to wake up, but I'm pretty sure she would if I rub a burning cigarette into her arm.

My eyes drift to my own arm, and I bite my lip, contemplating the idea. Well, if I must…

Taking the cigarette, I dig it into the pale flesh of the underside of my forearm, wincing from the pain. It's burning, searing hot, but not the hottest I've ever felt. Either way it still hurts like a bitch. But the burning dies down a bit, and the pain almost becomes…enjoyable?

I keep rubbing the cigarette into my arm until it's completely out, and a large smeared black mark in on my arm. The skin beneath is red in irritation, and it throbs dully.

Tossing the now burnt out cigarette aside, I rub my arm gingerly. That probably was not the smartest thing to do at all. But if it prevented the house from burning down, it was worth it.

Picking my shoes off of the floor, I shove my feet into them and start towards the front door. Already, I'm getting eager to see Clare. And Adam too, of course, but mostly Clare. Always Clare.

I snatch the keys to Morty off the counter and shove them into my back pocket as I walk out the front door. Instantly I am blasted by the chilly morning breeze, and I really regret not grabbing a new jacket before I left. But in my defence, I didn't know it would be this cold already. And besides, it would warm up eventually.

As I stroll across the browning lawn towards my vintage hearse, I twirl the keys around my index finger, whistling a soft tune. I'm in a good mood today. A little rare for me, but I'm glad I am.

But that good mood quickly turns sour when I climb into the hearse and jam my keys into the ignition. Morty begins to rumble, the entire body of the vehicle shuttering like it usually does when it starts, but suddenly falls completely silent, the trembling ending as well. My eyebrows furrow together in confusion, and I give the keys another twist in this ignition. The result is the same, Morty's engine beginning to roar to life, only to falter with a loud pop.

I give it another try. Same thing.

Once again. The engine still falters.

By now I'm completely fed up with the car and give up completely. I yank the keys from the ignition, shoving them into my pocket as I climb back out of the vehicle, feverishly muttering cuss words under my breath. This damn car sometimes…

Fixing the straps of my backpack over my shoulders, I start down the road in the direction of Degrassi. I decide to walk, rather than wasting time trying to figure out what was wrong with Morty. That would take too long, and I was already going to be almost late from having to walk.

I kick pebbles out of my way as I shuffle down the pavement, attempting to entertain myself. Walking to school is quite boring when you forget your iPod, and the only other thing you have to listen to is your own feet slapping against the concrete, and the constant rumbling of your stomach.

The longer I walk, the more that rumbling grows, grows until the point where I have no choice but to give in. I need food, and _now_. I'm a growing boy, so when I don't get food when I need it, I tend to get cranky. And I'm not a pleasure to be around when I'm cranky.

Stepping to the side of the pavement, I drop to my knees with my backpack in front of it. Maybe I have something in here, like an apple, or granola bar. I dig through the bag, but come up empty for anything edible. The only things inside are a large amount of cluttered papers shoved to the bottom of the bag, binders, and overdue library books. There isn't even a single dollar to spare.

In my growing frustration, I barely notice as a furry grey object skirts across my path. Glancing up, I spot a rather plump squirrel scampering down the sidewalk towards a tree. Hunger gnaws at my raw stomach as I raise to my feet, abandoning my bag on the ground. That fat little ball of fluff was looking awfully appetizing at the moment.

No! What the fuck was wrong with me? I was not going to eat a parasite infested rodent. But I was so hungry…

My eyes still on the target, I collect several hefty stones from along the road as I made my way towards the tree. It had only gone about halfway up the trunk, and if I was quiet enough, there was a chance that I could get it in one shot. The back of my mind was practically begging me not to do this, to just ask Adam for some food when I got to school, but all common sense was lost at the moment.

Moving on the balls of my feet, I creep towards the oblivious creature. It was so cute, and harmless, and had absolutely no idea about what was going to happen next. Now within striking distance, I raise my arm, preparing to strike. With my mouth watering and my hand trembling, I throw the stone.

It soared through the air faster than my vision could detect, and landed with a clunk right on the squirrel's puny little head. The creature dropped from the tree like an acorn, landing stiffly in a patch of grass below. I hoped it was dead, or at least unconscious.

I trot over to my prize, crouching down to examine in closely. It's chest was still rising and falling, but it did nothing as I prodded it with a finger. This will have to do. Taking the fuzzy creature into my still quivering hands, I turn away from the street. The last thing I need is for someone to walk past and see me devouring a squirrel and ship me off to the loony bin.

I swiftly grab my keys from my pocket, and place the tip of the house key to the soft belly of the animal. I don't have a knife on me, so the keys should be sharp enough. Pressing down hard enough to cut, I run the key down the length of its belly, watching as the layer of fur and skin split open. Insides spill out through the newly made hole, blood running down onto my hands.

Licking my dry lips, I stick a finger inside of the wound, scooping as much as I can before shoving it into my mouth. In all honesty, the taste isn't all that bad, but it's the texture of the tiny, rubbery organs grinding in my teeth that makes me want to gag. Blood smears on my face as I press my meal against it, ripping off bits of flesh and fur with my teeth. Bones grind under my molars and I frequently have to spit fur off to the side. But at least my stomach is satisfied.

"Eli… is that you?" a soft, feminine voices comes from behind me, and I freeze completely.

I glance over my shoulder to see Clare standing there on the edge of the curb, my jacket held in her hands and a puzzled expression on her porcelain face.

Fuck.


End file.
